Uitstel van executie

Deze column verscheen eerder in april 2011 op Nieuw W!J.

Het was een echte politieke soap voor mij de afgelopen dagen. Ik zat zo’n beetje elk uur gekluisterd aan een computer in de bibliotheek van mijn rabbinaal seminarie. Enigszins obsessief compulsief checkte ik de websites van de grote kranten. De vraag van de week was of ik nog wel mijn kosjere kippetje kan blijven eten wat met veel liefde en respect op de Sjabbattafel placht te verschijnen.

Op initiatief van de Partij voor de Dieren (PvdD) werd een wetsvoorstel gelanceerd om het ‘onbedwelmde’ rituele slachten te verbieden. De term ‘onbedwelmd’ is op zich al een sterk staaltje Orwelliaans-populistisch woordgymnastiek. De reguliere ‘bedwelmde’ slacht is niet zo zachtaardig als de term suggereert. Hierbij word er namelijk een stalen pin door de kop van het slachtvee geschoten. Dit wil nog wel eens misgaan.

Maar in hoeverre kan men redelijkheid tegenover populisme zetten? De stellingen zijn al ingenomen en op de fora van de online-kranten vierden de reaguurders een vreugdevuur van ijdelheden. Wij joden en moslims zijn barbaars en achterlijk (en militant atheisme is filosofisch verfijnd?). Hoe durven wij onze religie aan de samenleving op te dringen? (Voor zover ik weet dring ik niemand wat op, zelfs geen kosjer biefstukje.) Als we ons niet willen aanpassen dan moeten we maar terug naar ons eigen land! (Ik zal even in mjin paspoort kijken maar ik geloof dat ik Nederlander ben.) Het moet maar eens afgelopen zijn met die religieuze onzin! Het ene ad hominem-argument na de andere onlogische redenering werden heet opgediend, overgoten met een sausje van onderbuikgevoelens gekruid met een flinke dosis hypocrisie.

Dieren slachten is nooit een plezierige ervaring, bedwelmd of niet. Dit is de de filosofische consequentie en het morele compromis dat vleeseters (ik incluis, al eet ik maar eens in de zoveel weken vlees) moeten aanvaarden. De tegenstrijdigheid is verblindend: hoeveel van die reaguurders of PvdD-adepten eten zelf kiloknallers? En wat gaat onze overheid doen aan de vele schrijnende misstanden in de bio-industrie? Waarom leggen we alleen maar de laatste paar seconden van het dierenleven onder de loep en kijken we niet naar hoe het dier geleefd heeft?

Volgens de Tora (zie Numeri 16) was de eerste populist Korach. Korach wilde Mozes’ leiderschap omver werpen en zichzelf als leider installeren. Hij probeerde de Israëlieten te overtuigen met een typisch populistisch verhaal: "volg mij en ik geef jullie gelijkheid". Maar zijn echte intenties verraadde hij niet. De echte intenties rondom deze campagne krijgen wij ook niet te horen. Het gaat niet (alleen) om dierenwelzijn. Het gaat om dwingende assimilatie. En ik ben bang dat het ook gaat om islamofobie, en zelfs een beetje om latent antisemitisme. Dit soort beschuldigingen uiten is riskant, maar zwijgen terwijl onze meest fundamentele vrijheden geslachtofferd worden is nog gevaarlijker.

De kamer zal stemmen. Wij hebben even uitstel van executie. Het is tijd voor ons moslims en joden om solidair met elkaar te zijn en na te denken over hoe we een positief geluid kunnen laten horen. Zouden we onze eigen eco-kosjere of halal slachthuizen kunnen opzetten? Lammetjes dartelend in de wei, koeien tevreden grazend, kippetjes naar hartelust tokkelend in de buitenlucht. En dan op een humane en religieus-correcte manier geslacht.

Het enige tegengif tegen populisme is vrijheid en sociale rechtvaardigheid. En laat dat nou toevallig de religieuze opdracht zijn van al die ‘rare gelovigen’. Met Gods hulp. Amen.

Parashat Acharei Mot

Photocredit: google

Sermon West London Synagogue

Parashat Acharei Mot

The Feast of Freedom

Freedom is not a privilege inherited.

Freedom is a right passionately fought for, each generation anew.

The poignant words of the Haggadah, echoing the Mishnah, remind us of this difficult truth: ‘one is obligated to see him or herself as if he or she left Egypt’.

Freedom is not only the theory of history books, but a reality to be lived daily. So close to Pesach, it is fitting to remember the moral courage of Rabbi Werner van der Zyl, whose yartzeit we commemorate. Rabbi van der Zyl escaped the dire straits of Nazi Germany. In 1956, true to the spirit of his Hochshule fur die Wissenschaft des Judentums, Rabbi van der Zyl founded the institution at which I am privileged to train. We are much indebted to his courage and vision.

These last few months, the call for freedom has been sweeping across the world. We have seen dictators topple and nations unchained.

Often this call is a still, small voice echoed in the deeds of ordinary people. The ritual of the Pesach Seder acknowledges the power of coming together to celebrate freedom as families, friends and welcome strangers.

All the more troubling it is then, that our freedoms to practice our religion are under threat.

I bring you news of a worrying development taking place on the continent from which Rabbi van der Zyl hailed. Only two days ago, my Dutch government gathered a majority vote to ban shechitah and dhabibah, Jewish and Islamic ritual slaughter. The impending ban is whipped up by misinformed populism, at times fueled by Islamophobic and anti-Semitic sentiments and cheap prejudice. The consequences are severe for Holland’s minority Islamic and Jewish communities. Ritual slaughter comprises only a miniscule fraction of the extensive Dutch meat industry.

As religious minorities, we should be keen to defend our religious freedoms.

The question begs itself, what comes next?

A committee of medical doctors has advised a ban on brit milah (male circumcision) and a Dutch politician calls for the removal of ‘freedom of religion’ from our Constitution.

In this country, there have been similar developments concerning the labeling of kosher meat. The European Parliament is scheduled to vote on whether ritually slaughtered meat should be labeled as non-pre-stunned slaughter (and ‘stunning’ is a less gentle method of slaughter than the term suggests). If this law passes, it will raise the price on kosher meat and create economic hardship for Jews committed to keeping a kosher home.

These developments and discussions raise a number of important questions that we as a Jewish community should ponder.

Once the law on labeling is passed, what other religious freedoms will come under question?

How can we as religious minorities defend our principles and create solidarity with other minority faith communities?

And how can we integrate a concern for both kashrut with a concern for animal welfare and ecological awareness?

This week’s parasha, Acharei Mot brushes up against Pesach and explores some of these themes including the slaughter and consumption of meat. In Vayikra, the ethical and ritual intersect. Although Deuteronomy 21:12 grants us the specifics of ritual slaughter, the issue is also visited here.

“This is what the Eternal has commanded: if anyone in the house of Israel slaughters an ox or sheep or goat in the camp, or does so outside the camp, and does not bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting to present it as an offering to the Eternal… bloodguilt shall be imputed to that man… ” (Lev. 17: 3-4)

The accusation of ‘spilling blood’ (shafakh dam) is remarkable.

‘Spilling blood’ is usually voiced in the context of murder or manslaughter. The Torah appears to be saying that we should be ethical in our dealings with animals. Indeed, the Torah ideal for ethical consumption is vegetarianism, as Bereshit stipulates.

We eat meat that is sanctified, cared for, respected and humanely slaughtered.

We eat it in relationship with both Heaven and Earth, interwoven in the ecology of our earth and our lives.

It is said that a society can be judged by how it treats its weakest members. Both animals and (religious) minorities need our protection and deserve our respect. Sensitivity towards both minorities and animals is legislated in the Torah.

This doesn’t mean that we cannot ask challenging questions or explore the ethical ramification of certain religious practices.

But it does mean that we stand firm when basic freedoms are infringed upon.

It is ironic that labeling and bans on kosher meat are done in the name of animal welfare. Focusing on ritual slaughter obscures the real issues that should be a concern: the bio-industry and factory farming.

Our Parasha suggests that once we have mastered kindness towards animals, we can master moral interactions with others. Perhaps it is no coincidence that the ‘arayot’, a list of sexual prohibitions designed to sanctify our relationships, follow on. Holiness, like freedom, is a state not only to be lived but also to be conquered in everyday living.

Leo Baeck College and its commitment to Progressive values equip our communities with the tools to think deeply and speak out courageously on these issues. We are armed by the legacy of Rabbi van der Zyl who had the strength of heart to renew Progressive Judaism after the onslaught of history. We are called to remember our Exodus from Egypt in every generation and to heed this call for freedom.

And so these different calls for freedom, in past, present and future, intersect.

There is a lot at stake this Passover Seder.

Let us ensure that it is truly a Feast of Freedom celebrated by—and in solidarity with—all.

Parashat Metzora

Photocredit

Sermon Parashat Metzora
Finchley Reform Synagogue


The House of our Souls and the Soul of our Houses

“A plague on both your houses!” cried the mortally wounded Mercutio in Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’.
Juliet’s fiery cousin, Tybalt Capulet strikes down Mercutio, friend of Romeo Montague. The feuding between the two famous families turned deadly. The love of their progeny is forever tainted by hate.

This week’s parashah speaks explicitly of plagues upon houses—quite literally. Our Torah portion states:

“When you enter the land of Canaan that I give you as a possession, and I inflict an eruptive plague upon a house in the land you possess…” (Lev. 14:34)

Parashat Metzora, like last week’s parashat Tazria, graphically describes various forms of ritual impurity.
The parashah appears obtuse. We no longer live in an ancient agricultural society nor do we practice a Judaism that has a sacrificial cult at its core. (And we can be thankful for that!) Yet our Torah describes an intricate system of impurities and rituals that do not seem compelling to us moderns.

We can find this series of conditions and rituals equally fascinating and challenging. When one is deemed to have tza’arat, a skin condition that is often inadequately translated with ‘leprosy’, a series of cultic actions is undertaken: the sufferer is isolated, cured, and welcomed back into the community through an elaborate Shamanistic purification ritual. The Kohen—priest—uses live birds, hyssop, cedar wood, and crimson. The healed sufferer brings an offering and is pronounced clean.
Even more mysterious is the condition of a ‘leprous house’, ‘tza’arat bebayit’. Ritual impurity, this dark and intangible force, does not only infect people but also their vessels and homes. When a house is deemed leprous, a priest would examine it and implement a ‘treatment’: the house would be cleaned and cleared of its mould-like plague and ritually purified.

As I am not only a student rabbi but also a cultural anthropologist, I find these parts of the Torah of peculiar interest (although I also appreciate the fact that not everyone may share my arcane interest). Of course, a broader question arises: as progressive Jews, how should we interpret these difficult and obtuse aspects of our tradition?

A proposed interpretation could, of course, be scientific: it seems likely that the tza’arat of people is a medical condition and of houses is a toxic fungal infection. Both are treated by quarantine and hygienic measures. Surely, this could be a valid hypothesis. Yet it misses a certain depth and philosophical relevance. We still feel uncomfortable with these strange rituals.

Our discomfort is not unique. The Jewish tradition itself is at odds with these texts. The Rabbis of the Talmud and Midrash were eager to reinterpret these forms of impurity as moral. This is in itself a unique (and perhaps slightly desperate) approach since other forms of bodily impurity mentioned in the Torah are perceived as morally neutral. Other forms of bodily impurity are seen as the natural yet wondrous workings of our physicality and fertility and not as a commentary on our moral state.

For the Rabbis, the moral causes and consequences of this unique and mysterious skin tza’arat lay in lashon hara, slander. The famous sage Reish Lakish rereads Metzora as ‘motzi shem ra’, the ‘slanderer’. (It is poignant that later in life, Reish Lakish himself is ‘mortally wounded’ by the proverbial daggers of cruel words). This explanation also fits the story of Miriam’s tza’arat in the book of Numbers when she criticises her brother Moses. Interestingly, according to the Talmud (Tractate Erachin 15b-16a) tza’arat is not only the consequence of slander but also of incest, envy, false oaths and arrogance. What could be the unifying element of these moral failings?

What binds these moral failings is their private and homebound nature. We often like to think of the home as a safe and loving place. Yet, so much abuse takes place within the four walls of the home, under the guise of family or marital dynamics. Tza’arat is essentially an external manifestation of internal corruption. When we abuse ourselves or others, through language or action, this pain will burst forth in metaphorical sores. Such actions are often hidden from the scrutiny of the public eye. So the Torah warns us. Be careful. Be very careful of the things you say and do in your own hearts and in your own homes. Ultimately your deeds will bear witness against you.

The home is not only a private shelter. A house and its walls are also the connective tissue between the smallest social unit—the family—and the outside world. An ideal Jewish home, symbolised by the chuppah, has open walls—boundaries that are strong yet permeable, open and welcoming to the world at large. The walls of the house represent this boundary between internal and external, private and public. Small wonder, then, that the walls can become infested with a moral plague.

Mercutio is right. A ‘plague upon our houses’ when our homes illustrate our moral failings. When instead of love and understanding, callousness reigns. The values we teach our children and each other in the home form the basis of how we interact as individuals in society. Will we become arrogant, envious talebearers, consumed from the inside? Or elevate ourselves and our home lives to holiness, friendship and love?
Perhaps it is no coincidence that parashat Metzora is so close to Pesach. Pesach calls upon us to de-clutter our homes, to clean ourselves inside and our and to rid ourselves of the spiritual chametz (leaven) of arrogance. This season invites us to take stock of our homes and family lives at a deeper spiritual and moral level.

May our houses be blessed this Pesach. May we find blessings of love, companionship and moral strength within our homes. May we continue to open our homes to the beauty and wisdom of the world and to the needs of guests and strangers. Let us take good care of the soul of the home so that it may truly be a home for our soul.

Shabbat shalom and chag Pesach sameach!